


light & dark both

by Serpensortia_parapluie



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Minor Anxiety Attacks, Timbitat Quarantine Bingo, Zombie Apocalypse, once again I write a fic that essentially only has 1-2 characters, there is a surprising dearth of zombies despite this being a zombie apocalypse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpensortia_parapluie/pseuds/Serpensortia_parapluie
Summary: Tim is stuck on the wrong side of Gotham when the dead begin rising. He just wants to go home.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	1. The one where the word 'Mausoleum' appears way too many times

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _Journey_ , by Anselm Hollo. The first stanza seemed to fit the story.  
> This story fulfills my square for _'Presumed Dead'_ for the Timbitat Quarantine Bingo from [Sprx77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprx77). It is complete, but open-ended. I might write a sequel of sorts, wherein I do drabbles for the different possibilities, if my inspiration allows and reception of this bit is positive. This is actually my third or fourth attempt at this specific square- it gave me so many ideas- but this is the one that got done, so it's the one that gets the spot.  
> I will be posting a chapter a day, until it is completely posted. There are two minor anxiety attacks, I will mark the beginning of the chapter containing them as such. I think they're really mild, but you gotta do you.  
> I did research before beginning, but I didn't find any good maps of Gotham until after I'd already mostly finished this, so we're pretending the Gotham Cemetery is on one of the islands, while the Wayne and Drake Manors are on the mainland.  
> This fic finally got me over 50k total words on AO3, and is my longest posted work so far, so that's kinda cool.  
> I do not own, nor am I associated with the creators of _Batman_. I do not give permission for my works to be posted on third-party sites like Goodreads or apps.

Tim is honestly surprised that he’s alive by this point. It’s been a month, maybe a month and a half, since everything first went down.

That’s a long time to survive on the streets of Gotham, even before the streets became exponentially more dangerous. Well, less and more dangerous.

Anyone out in Gotham now is less likely to get wrapped up in some Rogue’s scheme while crossing the road, and less likely to get mugged due to the sheer drop in the population’s numbers. On the other hand, the majority of Gothamite survivors are mean, without a drop of compassion in them.

Much like the average citizen was _before_ this crisis, honestly. However, instead of only a small-ish percentage of strangers being willing to mug someone else, now everyone is willing to do whatever it takes to survive. Including ambushing other survivors to steal their supplies. It’s made it a little harder to navigate, because Tim has to avoid everyone.

He’s only narrowly escaped some random packs of survivors roaming the city because he’s been sticking more to rooftops than streets, and flees at the slightest hint of voices. He’s seen the things they were willing to do before everything, following Batman and Robin on their crusade, and he doesn’t want to risk it now.

Days have begun blurring into one another with no external structure. He’s finding that without having to keep a sleep schedule in order to be awake enough to participate in school, it really is kind of impossible to tell whether or not it’s Tuesday or Sunday, much less whatever the date is.

He tends to sleep in the early gray hours of the morning until noon, because that’s when _they’re_ the least active. He has to sleep sometime, and that’s the best time to do it without ending up dead. Something about the sun makes _them_ more sluggish; not to mention having light makes it far easier to spot _them_.

 _They’re_ much more quiet than all of the movies would have you believe. No loud theatrical groaning, or guttural screaming to alert others. Occasionally, there is some light moaning, feet shuffling against gravel or scuffing on concrete, but mostly _they_ are silent.

Tim’s theory is that this is because _they_ don’t breathe, therefore _they_ don’t have air in _their_ lungs in order to create sound. This will remain a theory, because _he’s_ not going to test it.

It’s approximately ten or eleven in the morning, and Tim is making his way towards the Gotham Cemetery, intent on scouting it out. _They_ hardly need graveyards anymore, and there might be a quiet mausoleum he can barricade and spend a night or two in.

It’s not a _great_ plan, but he hasn’t even managed more than a few hours of sleep in the past couple days, and he’s almost ready to drop. It should be safe- it’s only the _freshly_ dead that are coming back, and mausoleums, especially in cemeteries as old and established as the Gotham Cemetery, tend to only hold bones. There’s nothing to fear from moldering old bones.

Peeking behind himself, making sure to glance up as well as to the sides, Tim darts from the building he’s been scouting from to the largest tree growing against the fence. He scurries up the branches, thanking whatever powers deemed fit that even if the dead came back to life that they didn’t seem able to climb.

He’s spent a lot of time climbing, recently. It’s a good thing he’d had so much practice back before, when he used to follow Batman and Robin all over the city.

Closer, and with a better vantage point, Tim sets about trying to identify the best path to the sturdiest looking mausoleum he can see. He startles when he sees a lone figure staggering over the once-manicured lawn.

The three sturdy wrought iron gates are chained and padlocked shut. He’s picked his way around the entire perimeter of the cemetery this morning, and the solid brick wall, a good six feet tall, is intact the entire way around.

No one had been buried in this particular cemetery for a good six months before, due to the fact that only certain established families could inter their dead here. Which was also the reason why Tim even knew that. It would be quite the snub for the Drakes not to receive an invitation to any funeral happening here. It was a very selective patch of land, back when anyone was around to care about that.

As far as Tim can tell from observation, no bodies older than two or three months have come back. So this cemetery should have been clear.

Tim scowls. He bangs a fist off of the branch he’s leaning against. Well, maybe if it’s just the one, he can probably handle it.

Whoever this once was, gauging by their relative height next to the tombstones, they aren’t that much bigger than Tim. He could probably lure them to another mausoleum and lock them in?

He doesn’t really have any other options.

He doesn’t have any weapons. He’s never learned how to use a gun and has no one to teach him now, and it would call unwanted attention down on him, and he doesn’t have one in the first place. A baseball bat is too big and unwieldy for him to safely carry around, especially when scrambling up and down buildings. Anything like that on top of his regular supplies would just slow him down an unacceptable amount.

He heaves a heavy sigh, eyes on the figure stumbling around the dilapidated field. Not too much taller than him, not much wider either. It doesn’t look very decayed, so it’ll be a little faster even though the sun’s up.

Tim fidgets a little, adjusting his pack. Maybe he should leave his bag in the tree and double back for it…? No, he’ll need the bolt cutters. He lucked out finding a pair that’s only a little too big for him to manage at his size, but they’re still big enough to make running with them out awkward.

Leaning against the rough bark of the trunk, Tim allows his eyes to track the figure shambling into and over the stones and overgrown decorative shrubberies while his mind whirls.

He should probably try to locate somewhere to corral the… boy, for lack of a better term, before he risks getting close. But how will he lure it into a building, instead of setting it off chasing after Tim?

Tim decides to climb up to a higher branch while he thinks, finally sitting down and straddling a strong limb, twisting his pack around to his front so he can dig through it. He’s a little low on rations, but he should have more than enough for a week, if he only eats twice a day.

He’s still hoping to spend a few days in the cemetery, resting up for his next big push to get out of Gotham proper.

Enough time passes as he contemplates and turns down foolish idea after foolish idea that his stomach growls. He pulls out a can of peach slices in heavy syrup, thankfully with a pull-tab, pops the lid and starts carefully slurping down his breakfast. Lunch? Technically, it’s probably more of a mid-morning snack, but time has also lost much of its meaning, so it’s whatever he feels it is. It’s his first ‘meal’ since he attempted and failed to sleep this morning, therefore it’s breakfast.

He goes slow, not wanting to eat too fast and upset his stomach or risk cutting himself on the edge of the can. The last thing he needs right now is to cut himself open and contract tetanus.

When he finishes, he almost tosses the can, a semi-habitual action that he pulls back at the last moment, when he gets a sudden flash of an idea. This results in a motion that makes him glad no one’s there to see, for once. Still, he cradles the can, eying the cemetery and the wandering figure in it contemplatively.

It’s an absolutely _stupid_ idea, but it’s the best idea he’s got.

-

Tim decides to strap himself to the branch and nap so he can begin his plan in a few hours with more energy and a quicker brain.

It’s fine, he’s done similar before- he carries some extra long leather belts he managed to scavenge for exactly this purpose, though normally he’s lashing himself to a gargoyle.

 _They_ aren’t good at climbing- he’s never seen one of them yet manage to actually _climb_ , which means the safest places are up high. Survivors can, but enough of them don’t look up that it’s still safer for him to shelter above street level.

However, rooftops aren’t entirely safe. _They_ can’t climb things like ladders, trees, or drain-pipes, but they _can_ climb stairs. And some occasionally, through old neurons misfiring, remember how to open doors. And even if they don’t remember, which is typical as far as he’s seen- sheer numbers can overwhelm a door.

So rooftops with stairwell access are still a risk.

He has no idea if _they_ can sense the living or not- _they’re_ pretty oblivious, he’s found. But he’s had too many close calls with _them_ and still living Gothamites that he prefers being in a spot that’s much more difficult to access.

However, he’s seen storm clouds brewing on the horizon, hence scouting out the cemetery for the better part of a day and searching for a building with a roof.

The only possible wrench in the works of his plan is this one of them slowly stumbling around.

One is handleable. He can deal with that. In a few hours.

-

He actually manages to sleep, wonder of wonders. It’s fitful, and it’s closer to dozing than anything else, but he does feel slightly better than he did before.

Hopefully, the rest of his plan will go as smoothly, even though it’s incredibly stupid and reckless. He doesn’t have anything better, and he wants to be inside when the storm hits.

It’s amazing how far he can see along the horizon now that there’s no daily traffic or biweekly villain biochemical attacks to pollute the Gotham air. He’s never seen the air so clear in his entire life.

He eyes the sun- it’s _maybe_ afternoon now? He really can’t tell- the days are getting longer because it’s mid-spring, but he doesn’t have any access to electricity and he doesn’t have a watch, so.

What time is it? Who knows? Time is an illusion. Part of the social contract that doesn’t exist any longer, because society has fallen.

Time to begin, that’s what time it is.


	2. In which Tim survives, against all odds

What really irks him is that he _knows_ this is so dumb. He’s going to get himself killed in a really avoidable way, and there’ll be no one to know or mourn him. Which, given how little time his parents spent with him in his lifetime, isn’t really new or surprising.

He forcibly redirects his thoughts. As long as he doesn’t contemplate it for too long, his parents are Schrödinger’s parents, in quantum flux. As long as he doesn’t know, they’re dead _and_ alive.

That’s not how quantum theory works, but it’s how he’s interpreting it. It’s equally likely they’re alive somewhere as they’re dead somewhere, so as far as he’s concerned, they’re alive.

Alive, but in Bosnia. Or Serbia. Or Honduras. Or whatever country they were in before the airports and borders were closed.

Anyway, time to focus. He’s already untethered himself and gathered all his supplies together, so he edges out on the branch until he’s right above the wall and carefully drops down onto it. From there, it’s just a matter of easing himself to the grass so he doesn’t sprain an ankle.

He creeps to the nearest mausoleum- not the one he intends on staying in, but the one he needs for this plan. His pack is on his back, tightened down as much as possible, and he’s carrying the empty tin from the peaches earlier in his left hand and the heavy duty bolt cutters in his right.

This is so stupid.

He’s got a weather eye on the one in the cemetery. Closer, he can see this one is in really good condition compared to many others he’s come across. There aren’t even any visible signs of rot, and while he’s lurching, it seems it’s more because he keeps hitting tombstones and tripping over long patches of grass than any damage to his legs.

Tim will have to watch for that.

He reaches the door, and fortunately for his plan, it’s secured by a length of chain and a simple padlock. Tim realizes with the cold and heavy lock in his hand but his body turned towards the threat, it’s so easy, he can pick it. He feels like a weight lifts off of him, because this is great. He’ll be able to reuse this chain and the lock to resecure the door. Now he just has to lure it inside, which is what the can is for.

This is awesome.

Carefully, slowly, he sets the bolt cutters down and pulls his makeshift soda can shims out of his pocket. It takes longer than he’d like, but finally, the lock clicks open and he slides it off the chains. Then, even more carefully and slowly, so there’s no loud clinking, he eases them off the door handles.

Success! Now, Tim just needs to lure _it_ inside, then manage to chain and lock the door before _it_ can come back out.

Definitely easier said than done.

Completely focused on the nearby figure moving around, Tim eases down into a crouch to scoop up his bolt cutters. Just because they didn’t do the job this time doesn’t mean he’d like to risk leaving them behind. Behind him, the mausoleum door creaks.

Tim freezes in place for one horrible, vital, moment. He never thought that maybe someone else had already-

he didn’t check if the building was empty-

he’s too close.

That’s all that’s running through his head as he furiously backpedals away from the mausoleum’s doors terribly swinging open.

He’s so close to the doors, and so close to home, to Bristol, where he’s been trying to get for over a month, and now, because he’s so _stupid_ , he’s never going to get out of Gotham.

He’s scrambling, but his foot catches and the next thing he knows, he’s fallen, frantically clawing at the ground underneath him to get away from _them_ and-

someone’s between them.

It’s over quickly, and _they_ are shoved back in the mausoleum _they_ came from. Tim struggles to his feet, rushing forward to slam the doors closed again behind _them_. He winds the chain around and around the door handles and relocks the padlock with a visceral, satisfying _**click**_.

Then he turns to face his savior, his heart bursting from his chest, reminding him that _he’s alive_ , he _survived_ , and it turns out he’s face to face with the one of _them_ he’d been planning on locking in here in the first place.

He’s faced with another shock when he finally sees that face up close.

Slightly older, his expression less focused, smeared with mud and grit and Tim doesn’t know what, but he’s photographed that face hundreds of times, spent hours and hours developing pictures- he’d recognize that face anywhere.

It’s Jason Todd.

Tim’s brain blue-screens. He’s sitting on the ground again, looking _up_ at Jason’s blank face.

Jason’s been dead for _over a year_. He _definitely_ shouldn’t be up and walking, he’s been gone for far too long. Tim’s eyes dance all over Jason’s perfectly intact face, down his uninjured torso and tattered funeral suit, skittering across the bloody mess of his fingers. Finally, his gaze settles on the pulse jumping in Jason’s neck.

Well, that settles it. Tim hasn’t survived this long by refusing to accept the impossible when presented with it in front of his face.

It takes two tries to get it out, he’s become so unused to talking. “Jason?”

Jason doesn’t say anything.

He looks a little… _not all there_ , so Tim’s not really surprised. He climbs back up to his feet once again, distantly surprised to notice that while he’d dropped the empty can, he’d kept a death-grip on his bolt cutters. Huh. Maybe he _does_ have some survival instincts.

Tim waves his empty hand in front of Jason’s face, separated by a good foot or two in case he’s mistaken and needs to make a run for it. “Hello? Jason?”

Nothing. No indication that he heard Tim at all. Behind Tim, the newly rechained doors rattle a little, so he’s definitely actually speaking out loud. Even before all this, he’s spent so much time alone, he sometimes can’t tell without another cue.

He edges past Jason, lightly snagging his sleeve as he passes, trying to draw him further away from the site of Tim’s most recent near-death experience. He follows placidly enough, so there’s something.

Once at a safer distance, Tim tries again. “Hi, Jason. My name’s Tim, Tim Drake? We’re neighbours, though I don’t know if you remember me- probably not, I think we’ve only met once or twice, at galas- yeah, I’m rambling, and I don’t think you’re getting any of this, are you?”

He stares intently at Jason’s face, but he isn’t getting a reaction.

“Yep, okay. Okay. So this is a thing that’s happening, that’s cool.” Tim said, trying to keep calm. He carefully adjusts his grip to check Jason’s wrist for a pulse.

Thankfully, unlike the time he embarrassed himself in front of the entire class at school by being unable to find his own carotid pulse, this time he finds it on the first try.

Jason’s alive!

That’s wonderful, and normally, Tim would be embarrassingly ecstatic. Especially since that would mean maybe Batman would take it a little easier on the average criminal element of Gotham, who didn’t necessarily deserve being hospitalized for purse-snatching. Or take it easier on himself. Tim’s lost track of how many of Batman’s injuries he’s tracked since Jason’s death, but he has charts dedicated to the unsettlingly downwards trend towards more serious injuries.

Tim had been putting together a plan for dealing with that, but it was still in its nascent stages when everything hit.

After that, well, Tim was stuck on the wrong side of Gotham from his house and had bigger concerns. Mainly, trying to get back to Bristol, alive.

“We need to get you back to Bruce.” Tim muttered. He’s sure that _Batman_ , of all people, has managed to survive and is working on a cure, or is working with the Justice League at the very least.

That gets a reaction. Jason lets out a cry, that if he’s generous, seems to begin with a ‘B’ sound and end with an elongated hiss.

Well. Tim could work with that.


	3. The one with the Rogue celebrity guest appearance

Weathering out a thunderstorm in a mausoleum, hiding from the hungry empty _others_ with a recently dead boy- it’s not the most comfortable of experiences. Tim’s dry, and since he’s let go of all shame and huddled against Jason’s side, warm. That’s good enough for now. Tomorrow, he’s going to have to figure out how to convince Jason to go along with him, after he figures out what Jason’s still capable of.

Tim was initially heading to his house because it’s semi-isolated, distant enough from the city to avoid most trouble, close enough to make trips back for supplies, has an extensive and well-stocked pantry, and is probably fortifiable. Heading instead to the Wayne Manor is no trouble, only a mile or two further, and probably a better decision in the long run anyway.

He’s seen that Jason can do some fighting, defend himself to an extent, but he’s not sure that Jason’s aware enough to realize that getting bit is disastrous.

He also had to coax him to eat earlier, so Tim knows he needs to stick with Jason. He wouldn’t have abandoned him anyway- even leaving him behind in a heavily fortified safe house would be too dangerous. Making him wait until Tim came back with Batman could result in Jason being dead again by the time they returned, this time from starvation.

If the defenses even lasted as long as it took for Tim to finally escape city limits, find Batman, convince him he was telling the truth, then make their way back.

Much simpler to bring Jason along with him, go to Wayne Manor, contact either Batman or the Justice League, and hope they had answers.

Again, a plan that’s easier said than done.

-

All told, Tim spends three days in the mausoleum with Jason.

The first day, the storm is still raging outside, and Tim has enough food for the both of them. He passes the time attempting to coax Jason into communicating. Jason shows no sign of understanding Tim, _unless_ he mentions Bruce Wayne or Batman. Then, he makes that horrid sound again, the one that Tim has realized means he’s calling for Bruce.

Thankfully, he’s calm, and doesn’t seem to mind Tim being all up in his personal space, which is good, because that’s really the only way Tim has of making Jason pay any attention to him. He finds himself apologizing a lot, but needs must.

He checks the other boy over for injuries as best as he can. He doesn’t really have anything he can use to treat any, but he wants to know if Jason’s hurt. Other than his hands, which are in terrible shape and give Tim awful suspicions about how they got like that, he seems perfectly well. Physically.

He even checked over Jason’s head as carefully as possible, narrating the whole time because Jason is calmer when he speaks. It was gross, his hair knotted, oily and clingy, full of dried dirt he tried to gently scrub away to check for bruises or contusions underneath, and once, a beetle.

Thankfully long dead, but Tim _definitely_ shrieked and threw it across the room. He doesn’t have any room to speak about body odor, because he has also not showered in weeks, but still. Gross.

He couldn’t find any obvious cause for Jason’s retreat into himself, couldn’t test for anything inside the skull, and couldn’t treat either even if he had found anything, and had to grumpily settle for what he’d already done.

On the second day, he tries even harder to communicate with Jason. He’s heard of aphasia, and different techniques for dealing with it. Jason is multilingual, Tim’s seen him speak in all sorts of languages as Robin, but Tim isn’t. Not really. He only knows bits and pieces of a few other languages, usually just enough to say introductions and ask for directions.

He attempts Spanish- poorly- and that doesn’t get so much as a twitch. He tries signing, slightly more successfully, but Jason’s gaze doesn’t track his motions.

Tim’s heard that sometimes pictures can help, but he’s no artist and the only canvas he has available is the dust on the floor. He tried, but he’s not sure _he_ understands what his pictures are supposed to be, much less Jason.

He tried asking Jason to blink once for no, twice for yes, and then proceeded to ask a series of yes or no questions, none of which got any response.

He even attempted something he’d seen once in a Disney movie, a long time ago.

“Jason- Tim. Tim, Jason. Do you understand?”

Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

Tim sulks the rest of the day away.

Day three dawns, and he begins to re-evaluate and plan. Jason seemed content enough to follow him earlier, when Tim tugged on his sleeve. Would he still do that?

Testing suggests yes, unless he decides to be contrary.

Not ideal if an emergency comes up.

Tim is significantly smaller than Jason, and lacks much of the muscle mass. He’s also been sheltering up high whenever possible, so next he needs to find out two more things- can Jason still climb, and can Tim convince Jason to follow him up somewhere?

He’s going to have to, because there is no way that he can carry Jason up anything.

Tim grimly eyes the marble angel at the other end of the mausoleum. It’s absolutely massive, but not high enough to severely injure if there should be a fall, unless they land poorly. Which they will if they fall, because the floor is also marble.

A few hours later, Tim has his answers.

Yes, Jason can still climb and can be convinced to.

Tim pulls out the map he stole from a gas station a week ago to trace a new route. He still plans to get to Bristol, and he’s going to take Jason with him or die trying. He doesn’t plan on either of them dying, so he’s got a lot of rerouting to do.

The previous plan relied on Tim being small, quick, and quiet. However, with Jason in tow, those plans won’t work. Even though he does follow Tim willingly enough and is able to climb, there are a few risks that Tim is no longer willing to take.

Some plotting is in order.

They leave on the morning of the fourth day, as soon as the first rays of light filter through the round decorative stained glass window set above the door.

Tim has managed to haul himself up some decorative ledges and get a good look through the clear panes of glass next to the stained roundel. The coast is clear, and there is no better time to leave.

-

Jason’s cautious and skittish, which saddens Tim, but also helps them avoid notice on more than one occasion. It turns out that Tim is more focused on Jason than their surroundings now that he has someone else to worry about, but Jason is almost preternaturally aware of threats.

This helps them avoid three groups of roving survivors, one of which Tim is about 85% certain contained the Riddler, minus his signature suit.

Jason fights against Tim sometimes, but if he narrates what he’s doing and why, Jason responds much better.

Sheltering up high still is effective- for now. They’re quickly getting closer to the outskirts of the island, and it’s becoming more difficult to find somewhere safe to shelter. In a day or two, they’re going to have to cross a bridge to get to the mainland. From there on, it’s mostly suburbs until they reach the estates- lots of wide lawns, with very few places to hide or escape upwards.

It will be the most dangerous stretch of their journey.

Hopefully, it will go better than Tim’s efforts to get Jason speaking again. He’s continued trying different methods of getting through; singing the alphabet, clumsily miming, and keeping up a constant quiet chatter when it’s safe to speak.

He hopes that if- no, _when_ , he needs to stay optimistic about _something_ \- Jason recovers, he remembers nothing of Tim’s multiple attempts to teach him his name by grabbing Jason’s hand and holding it to Tim’s chest, repeating his name over and over.

Mother may have been right about that one nanny allowing him to watch too many childish films.


	4. The one with the panic attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, seriously, read the chapter title. I feel they're pretty minor, but if that bothers you, proceed with caution, I guess? I feel like I may be overstressing these.

Crossing the bridge is nerve-wracking, and also boring, because it is a scene pulled from every single disaster movie Tim has ever seen. 

Abandoned cars crowd the lanes heading away from the city, most of them empty and dusty, and a few occupied by _them_. Thankfully, the ones occupied are typically buckled in, with their doors closed- _they_ can’t figure out how to unbuckle themselves. All the ones with open doors have long since left in search of greener pastures and easier prey.

Tim power walks down the empty lanes heading into Gotham, and the scene even seems to make Jason nervous, because he sticks close to Tim for the entire journey, and hardly needs any coaxing. He doesn’t dare run, because running always seems to draw _their_ attention faster than anything else, and it’s hard to hear the quiet sounds approaching over your heart thundering in your ears.

It’s a long walk, the longest bridge out of Gotham. It’d almost be mind-numbing if Tim wasn’t so terrified for the entire time they’re on the bridge.

There’s nowhere to hide, here. Nothing to climb and wait it out, nothing to duck behind.

Tim’s already walking quickly, but he keeps catching himself increasing his pace. He wants off this bridge.

-

After crossing the river, Tim needs to take a day to recover and restock his food supply, or he’s going to have a nervous breakdown at the tender age of twelve. He’s not okay with this level of stress, but there’s no other choice. He can’t afford to be out of commission. Jason needs him.

They find a suburban office building done in a brutalist style, not a surprise this close to the Gothic architectural horror that is Gotham. It’s solidly out of concrete, and what windows it has are small and narrow, because the architect was clearly going for a pseudo-feudalist air on their concrete box.

If Tim was settling down for a siege back when this all started, that would have been a great place- however, now?

It’s a death trap. There’s no way to tell how many of _them_ could be lurking inside, and it’s bound to be dark in there, making it even more dangerous. So, reluctantly, he passes it up.

He wistfully eyes it as they head towards a glass building next to it. A bank. There’s only a small section of the building with actual walls, probably offices and bathrooms. Not a big enough area to hide very many of _them_.

More importantly, there’s a hand-written paper sign taped up next to an overflowing cardboard box near the front door. It looks like they were having a food drive before everything, and no one’s hit this spot yet.

Bingo.

-

After getting something to eat, Tim heads in the direction of a once quiet neighbourhood nearby, Jason in tow. It’s eerie, how quiet everywhere is now. He’d had no idea how much traffic and the comforting hum of electricity took up the background of life’s ambient noise until suddenly, it was gone.

He’s taken buses past here for years, in order to get to and from school, or just to get into Gotham proper to chase Batman. He’s looking for one house in particular, with one of those metal roofs… There!

In addition to having a striking metal roof in a vibrant shade of blue, he remembers that when the owners of this house decided to reroof, they also built a substantial treehouse- with a rope ladder.

He may or may not have eyed it wistfully every time he passed, remembering promises from his parents of making a treehouse and spending time together. Yet more promises that never happened and now, never would.

Sure enough, there it is. There’s even a mini wrap around porch on it so that they’re not just climbing blindly into an unknown situation.

After coaxing Jason up the ladder and creeping around to peer in the windows, Tim’s pleased to see that the treehouse has no inhabitants. Living or… _otherwise_. Tim pulls the ladder up behind them.

There’s a couch that looks terribly inviting, and more than big enough for the two of them. There’s crayons scattered all over the floor, and a trunk overflowing with toys shoved against the far wall, but nothing dangerous within. The front and only door even locks, so all in all, it’s perfect. They may stay here for a few days even.

Tim easily picks the lock- he’s much better at that, after all the practice he’s gotten since things have gone bad- and in they go. Tim locks the door again behind them, takes a quick peek in all the corners and behind the couch to make sure it’s really safe, then drops his bag next to the door and collapses to his knees.

They’re safe, for now.

He feels light as air and like he’s been thrown overboard with an anchor tied to his feet, all at once. The next thing he knows, he’s hunched over, elbows on the floor, hands linked behind his neck, gasping desperately.

The polished floorboards beneath him are covered in black specks, swirling- no, wait- that’s not the floor. That’s just… him.

Distantly, he knows this isn’t good, knows that he needs to pull himself together- but he just _can’t_.

He’s breathing really fast, and there’s something he should do about that, but what can he do- it’s- it’s-

A hand settles on his back.

Tim stops breathing. He holds it, then forces himself to breathe slower. It’s hard- maybe one of the hardest things he’s ever done- but he _does_ it.

_In._

_Out._

_In-_ and- _out-_

 _Again_. And again.

He forces himself to keep going, until he’s breathing normally again. He’s still curled up like a pill bug on the floor, and the wood is beginning to hurt where he’s been pressing against it too hard- his elbows, his knees, the tops of his feet where his shoelaces have pressed into them too much.

He slowly comes to realize that the hand resting on the curve of his spine isn’t normal, isn’t something he’s used to, is someone trying to comfort him.

Jason.

He’s almost afraid to uncurl, to lose that connection.

Tim’s used to being alone. He rarely sees his parents, and before they decided he was old enough to take care of himself, they took care to rotate his caretakers so none would get too attached. They said it was improper for him to be friends with the help. He only has a few friends at school, and he only ever sees them while there.

It’s always been rare- exceedingly so- that anyone touches Tim.

Even more so, now.

That Jason, his favorite Robin, miraculously returned from the dead unlike the _others_ , who doesn’t even _know_ Tim, might not even understand what’s going wrong with the world- reaches out to comfort him- something in Tim cracks.

Now he’s _crying_ and pressed up against something warm, something that _must_ be Jason’s chest because his arms are wrapped around Tim. Jason’s making quiet shushing noises, and that, over anything, makes Tim cry even harder because he’d been so afraid that Jason was gone forever, but these are signs, solid signs, that he’s not.

He’s still in there, somewhere.

Tim ends up crying himself to sleep, right there on the floor and Robin instead of the perfectly fine couch three feet away.

-

When Tim wakes up, the sky is gray and dim. Birdsong is just beginning to pick up, and he’s alone.

The last fact sends him bolting upright, scrambling around the tiny treehouse to see if maybe, he just didn’t notice Jason standing there…?

But the treehouse is entirely empty.

The pit drops out of Tim’s stomach, and panic begins to set in. Jason’s never wandered off before, and he was more active, less passive than usual last night. What if he left and ran afoul of one of _them_?

Oh god, Tim got Jason _eaten_. Or _worse_. What if he got bit but got away? He’d be infected, and Tim would have gotten them both so close to home only to fail less than a few miles from success and safety.

Tim tries to think on the bright side. _They_ are slow, not very smart, and Jason’s proven he’s able to fight and defend himself against several of _them_ at once, back at the cemetery when he saved Tim’s life.

Not to mention, Tim found him alive, so he’d clearly managed before then, somehow. So maybe he’d be alright, if he only ran into a few of _them_ instead of a whole mob.

 _They_ aren’t the only things out there that could hurt Jason, though. There are many, many other things that he could run afoul of.

What if another survivor found him? They’d be dangerous, and Tim’s not sure Jason could handle himself against that kind of threat right now.

What if he’s gotten lost? It’s not like Tim can wander the neighbourhood calling for him, that’d just call unwanted attention down on his head and Jason wouldn’t answer anyway.

What if he’s gotten hurt? He could have walked right off the edge of the treehouse’s porch, and sure, it’s not very high especially compared to Gotham’s skyline, but it is high enough that he could have broken something!

What if he’s gotten a cut? Tim doesn’t have anything to treat that! What if he-

What if- he forces his racing thoughts to a screeching halt.

Tim’s never going to know if Jason’s alright or not if he doesn’t _open the door_.

He throws open the treehouse door and almost takes a header off the balcony because he trips over the rolled up ladder. Luckily, Jason reaches out and catches him.

It feels like slipping down a fire escape only to catch himself on the railing with his stomach, something he’s unfortunately experienced a time or two. He clings to the arm wrapped around him, gasping for air. “Ja-Jason?!”

He doesn’t get a response, but he’s found Jason, who is unhurt. Jason saved him from taking a tumble, and that, combined with the comfort he gave Tim last night as he cried, are both good signs!

Tim finds himself wrapped around Jason in another hug and has to force himself to let go, step back, and brush himself off like nothing ever happened. The heat in his face tells him he’s failing at acting nonchalant, but it’s only Jason here, and Jason won’t tell anyone anyway.

Not that there’s anyone to tell.

“Right,” Tim says, nodding decisively. “Let’s eat, then we’ll move out and hopefully reach either the Drake or Wayne Manors by mid-afternoon.”

Jason doesn’t reply, but Tim doesn’t think he’s imagining the air of hope and determination settling over the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim strikes me as a worrier. The first little breakdown was because while they're not _completely_ safe, they did just survive an even more stressful situation- the bridge, and often times, the stress of a situation doesn't hit until after the stressful situation is over. Sometimes your brain shuts that down until you have the room/safety to handle it. Sometimes.  
> The second one, isn't really so much of a panic attack as Tim working himself up, by worrying about as many different situations as he can plausibly think of in about 30 seconds time.  
> Plus, he's twelve (ish) here, and he has another boy semi-dependent on him right now- he needed a little break.


	5. The end...? Not joking, this is Actually The End

Moving through the suburbs is hard. Tim would really rather be going along rooftops, but out here the buildings are too far apart to make that feasible. He might have to take into account for future plans that he feels safer off of the ground.

The sun is high in the sky by the time the walls of the Drake Estate are visible in the distance. The Wayne Estate is just beyond, normally a short drive. He’s learned by now that a short drive is usually a much longer walk.

Tim knows better than to relax- who knows what may have happened to his estate in his absence, who or _what_ may have moved into either mansion.

This is one of the most dangerous stretches, because they’re _so close_.

This is the stretch where Tim has to become even more vigilant. Just because he’s almost gotten Jason home and things are familiar, does _not_ mean that they’re safe. He can’t afford to relax or rush- either option is dangerous.

Still, their only option is to move forward.

Tim grasps Jason’s sleeve in a tight grip and keeps walking.

-

They stop briefly at Drake Manor. It’s empty and untouched. No one seems to have broken in, and the locks are intact.

Tim’s disappointed, though he doesn’t know why.

He knew his parents were out of the country when all of this began, knew that the airports were closed, knew that they were unlikely to try and return anyway.

He doesn’t know why he feels. . . why he feels hollow and empty inside. It’s not like they were present for much of his life anyway. He hardly ever saw them when it was _easy_ to come home, why was some small part of himself expecting to get there and see them _now_?

Scanning across the foyer, Tim notes the accumulating dust. There’s no sign that anyone else has been here since the night he left. Same as always.

He shakes off the sudden surge of maudlin feelings and leads Jason up to his bedroom. They can raid the pantry for anything that hasn’t gone bad after this.

First, Tim needs to grab his photos.

He plans to sit down with Jason and flip through them later. He’s hoping they’ll jog some memories. Visual triggers might help better than stories from someone who wasn’t actually part of the action. That’s not right now though. That’ll be done later, either as a reward to themselves for finding Batman and finally being safe, or as a consolation prize.

Right now they need to get ready to leave again.

The Wayne Manor is right up the hill, and Tim is really hoping that there’s someone still there, or some way to contact the Justice League. Something. _Anything_.

He really doesn’t have any other ideas.

-

After the disastrous attempt at getting Jason to ride a bike found in the garage, Tim decides they’ll keep walking, just as they have been.

The bike was one of Father’s attempts at bonding, gone awry when he’d forgotten that no one had ever taught Tim how to ride one, was too busy to teach Tim, and it turned out to be several sizes too large anyway. He’d quickly abandoned it in the mostly unused garage, along with all sorts of other detritus left behind from half-baked ideas and half-hearted attempts. Catcher’s mitts, never used. A football, still in the box. Tim, in the manor.

Too late to worry about any of that now.

-

Tim finds himself traipsing up the long drive, Jason in tow.

The closer they get to Wayne Manor, the more agitated Jason becomes. He’s going faster, stumbling less. Eventually, he starts heading the right way on his own, no direction from Tim needed. Tim’s really glad for that, since it seems to support his theory that Jason is beginning to recover, just really slowly.

It also makes him nervous, because what if it’s not safe?

They managed to get past the gate entirely too easily. If there was a security system still up, there would have been some sort of resistance. Mr. Pennyworth would have questioned them from the intercom, the gate would have hummed with electricity, the gate would have been _locked_.

Any of those or a million other security measures Batman should have enacted in order to protect his home base would have been a good sign.

A _great_ sign.

Right now though, Tim is starting to lose hope. Instead, he is beginning to dread.

His thoughts start whispering concerns he’d previously pushed aside in favor of focusing on getting Jason here. What if. . . What if Mr. Wayne didn’t make it? What if _none_ of the Bats made it? What if the _Justice League_ didn’t survive?

Tim’s been getting by each day by reassuring himself that somewhere, competent adults were doing their very best to take control of this crisis and either stop or reverse the effects.

He’s taken the best care of Jason that he could, done his best to take him home to his family, but what if his family isn’t there?

What then?

Tim is not qualified to be responsible for making sure Jason’s alright and starts recovering, if that’s possible. Sure, he’s done okay so far- they’re both still alive, for one thing. They’ve also eaten pretty well and had enough water to drink, so far. He’s not doing _awful_. He’s not going to _stop_ , if it turns out that this is a dead end.

But for all that Tim’s used to being the sole authority in his life, due to the lack of responsible adults, he is not used to having to be _responsible_.

He would never abandon Jason, and he knows Jason needs his help- but he doesn’t know what else to _do_.

He doesn’t know what else he _can_ do.

Tim grips Jason’s sleeve with white knuckles, ready to run away and drag him along if necessary to keep him safe. They walk up to the large front door, and Tim, unable to stall any longer, lifts his other hand and _knocks_.

**Author's Note:**

> I will add a fun fact for each chapter!  
> 1\. The other title for this chapter could have been 'the one where Tim also suffers time-blindness, like me, also exacerbated by a major life event/global crisis!'  
> 2\. This is the chapter that hits my bingo square for 'presumed dead' because up until this point, Tim _definitely_ thought _Jason_ was dead, and the 'shambling figure' was dead. Was it too obvious, folks?  
> 3\. The entire time I was writing this story, I felt like Tim has somehow stolen Dora the Explorer's convenient plot-excuse backpack, but I felt it was less clunky to have him pull plausible things out as needed versus giving an inventory the first time it was mentioned. Still, know that I have heard a faint echo of a faded memory of a backpack song every time Tim needs something from that bag.  
> 4a. Jason almost had a miraculous recovery here, but I felt like it didn't fit the overall tone of the fic. Sorry!  
> 4b. Bonus fun fact: that treehouse is _absolutely_ based on a house/treehouse combo I used to see every morning on the way to school and a house near where I live now. Both places got reroofed with metal roofs at some point, one the regular red, and the other a lovely shade of blue, and both owners went 'why stop at the main house?!' because there is indeed a large treehouse at the first location, and the second location has a detached garage and sunroom also roofed in sheet metal. They're gorgeous, and I bet they sound fantastic when it rains!  
> 5\. This is it, the End! Sorry it's open-ended like this, but I wanted to write the journey, not the destination. That's a whole other fic I just don't have the time/energy/inspiration for. Plus, there are just _way_ too many options!  
> I may add a sequel to this some day, that's just little drabbles of the options, but I make no promises. In the meantime, I'll share my little option tree to give you guys an idea of how many ran through my head, but before I do, I want to shout out to Lizzy for commenting on every chapter so far! You're fabulous, and made my day several times. Thanks, Lizzy.  
> Without further ado:
> 
> After Tim knocks, options:
> 
> 1\. Someone answers the door:
> 
> Alfred: with shotgun, unarmed, or dead; Bruce: as Brucie, Batman, or dead; Dick: Nightwing, himself, dead; Barbara: herself, Batgirl, Oracle, dead; complete and utter stranger(s); Bat-dog; combinations alive; combinations dead.
> 
> 2\. No one answers the door:
> 
> Tim leaves: takes Jason, never returns; Jason refuses to leave, Tim leaves; they try again later; Jason refuses to leave, Tim refuses to leave him; Tim leaves without Jason, never finds him again (either Jason has died or Bruce has taken him in, unknowing that Tim is still out there); Tim leaves without Jason, Bruce finds Tim; Tim decides they're going in anyway.
> 
> 3\. Tim decides they've come this far, they're going in:
> 
> There's nothing and no one in the Manor; there's dead behind the door; Jason leads Tim to a Cave entrance, either outside or through the clock; Tim finds a door/window (sees something terrible through window).
> 
> 4\. They end up in the Cave, and:
> 
> No one's there; everyone's there; they're dead and reanimated; they're just dead; Tim and Jason are taken for imposters, many accusations fly, maybe get rejected from Cave; they rejoice, living boys, and one is Jason!; no one is there, but there is a way to communicate with the Justice League (no answer or positive answer).
> 
> Just a few options.


End file.
